


Your Song

by Cocohorse



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Canon Compliant, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, IronStrange, M/M, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-18 13:02:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20639612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cocohorse/pseuds/Cocohorse
Summary: There is only one outcome in which they won.But—Stephen’s ashamed of how utterly, ridiculously selfish he is—there is another outcome that he finds himself endlessly replaying in his mind.





	Your Song

**Author's Note:**

> Me: Why haven't I written any fics in the past 3 years?  
Me, taking 5 months to finish a single one-shot: ah yes
> 
> I inserted hyperlinks in the fic for the music bits, so feel free to check them out. Also, special thanks to my wonderful beta reader, Juliet. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy reading!

There is only one outcome in which they won.

But—Stephen’s ashamed of how utterly, ridiculously selfish he is—there is another outcome that he finds himself endlessly replaying in his mind.

It's stupid, he tells himself over and over. Out of all 14,000,506 futures, they won, they beat the odds, they practically beat fate itself. He should be grateful that he and everyone else are back. And he is, truly.

So he ignores the ugly ache in his chest and the embarrassing way his cheeks become wet when he sits alone on his bed and thinks about that one outcome. That one, single outcome in which half the universe was gone, but one person was still there.

Dammit, Stephen can't stop thinking about Tony fucking Stark.

It was only some five, six years ago—in other words, lifetimes ago—that Stephen Strange first met Tony Stark.

As far as first impressions went, Stephen had made quite an entrance. Engulfed in a dazzling shower of ember sparks, he had stepped out of his portal, a bemused smile quirking at his lips upon seeing Tony and Pepper’s incredulous stares.

Tony’s first impression, on the other hand, had proven Stephen’s assumptions right. Tony was just as scrappy and reckless as the papers painted him, and just as hard-headed and snide as the doctor himself.

_Douchebag._

They had only known each other for mere hours, and they had spent every passing minute fighting Thanos or each other. Being friendlier wouldn't have changed anything. But when Stephen looks back, regret is a snake that coils in his stomach and slowly poisons him.

_He’s not really my friend_, Tony had told Ebony Maw. _ Saving his life is more of a professional courtesy._

However, during their limited time together, Tony had completely rewritten Stephen’s initial impression of him. Partially because of how passionately he cared about Pepper and that kid, Peter. Partially because of how tirelessly he persevered against Thanos, scraping tooth and nail against a being stronger than anyone they had ever encountered. But mostly because of what Stephen had witnessed in 14,000,605 futures.

Searching through those millions of futures with a sinking heart, it had become dismally clear to Stephen that half of the universe was fated to disappear. Only in a few thousand futures did it come back. Yet in those briefly jubilant outcomes, both halves of the universe would eventually disappear altogether with another snap.

Except in the one outcome in which Tony Stark sacrificed himself and they won.

Stephen had been surprised to learn of how heavily the universe’s survival depended on Tony. In the outcomes where Tony wasn't part of the unlucky half of the snapped universe, and where Ant-Man escaped the Quantum Realm, Tony was instrumental in retrieving the Infinity Stones. In nearly every outcome where Tony decided to help the Avengers, it was Tony who perfected time travel. In battle with alternate-timeline Thanos, it was not Thor, not Captain America, but Iron Man who always came the closest to defeating the titan. In one outcome, he did.

While searching through all possible outcomes, Stephen had also learned that in some, both he and Tony survived the initial snap.

95% of these, say, “Tony and Stephen” outcomes did not lead to them becoming friends.

If time travel failed or Thanos didn't return in these “Tony and Stephen” outcomes, the two usually lived the rest of their lives with minimal, if any, contact. Tony often retired from the public eye to raise his family (if Pepper survived the initial snap) or to work on personal projects (if she didn't). Stephen almost always returned to his post at the Sanctum Sanctorum. Their paths rarely crossed, especially in the outcomes that Tony didn’t rejoin the Avengers nor help in the “time heist.” Nevertheless, there were the off-chances where they discovered themselves meeting in yet another world-saving battle. Conversations were curt, as if everything they had witnessed all those years ago was forgotten.

But in 5% of these “Tony and Stephen” outcomes, they eventually became friends. Stephen still doesn't understand exactly how, but he knows the two of them have several things in common and not just a sharp tongue.

They met whenever one needed help or advice with work. Work visits then evolved into cordial check-ins, where they'd talk about family and current events. It was admittedly pleasant and casual, which were two words that pre-snap Stephen wouldn't have ever used to describe an interaction with Tony.

Yet pre-snap Stephen, observing these “Tony and Stephen” outcomes on Titan, had found his alternate selves spending a lot of time in Tony’s garage for “weekly workshops.” During these day-long sessions, the two worked on individual projects while exchanging ideas, solutions, and snide remarks.

In most “Tony and Stephen” outcomes, that was all that happened.

In most “Tony and Stephen” outcomes, Pepper lived, and Stephen became a good friend of the Starks.

This one particular outcome—the one that Stephen had witnessed on Titan and now currently, constantly thinks and dreams of—is not one of those outcomes.

* * *

According to Tony, being buddies with Doctor Strange was a chance to talk to someone who could relate to the whole superhero, near-death lifestyle, but who was not doing the whole “Avengers” thing. Stephen confessed it was a relief to talk to someone who was in the loop with the latest science and pop culture. Most people at the Sanctum and the Avengers headquarters didn’t satisfy such standards.

“Can you believe Wong hasn't listened to _ Lemonade _ yet?” Stephen was half-reading an ancient book as a small ball of yellow energy formed and fizzled in his hand. 

Crouched on the ground in a white t-shirt and dark blue jeans, Tony was fiddling with leftover metal scraps.

“It took Wong two decades to learn Beyonce’s name,” said Tony, his back to Stephen. “I absolutely can.”

“Fair point,” concurred Stephen, frowning at the underwhelming energy in his hand. “While I admit Wong’s taken to pop music rather quickly, he’s still behind the curve. He’s currently stuck in the ‘90s. Not a day goes by that I don't hear ‘I Want It That Way.’”

“Man’s got taste.”

“Who do you think he got it from?”

Tony looked over his shoulder and cast a cursory glance at the sorcerer suspended in air. A book and a ball of yellow energy hovered over the man’s open palms, and a magical red cloak billowed around his shoulders.

“You?” Tony arched a manicured brow at the notion of two Masters of the Mystic Arts listening to the Backstreet Boys. “Nah.”

Stephen lowered himself to the ground, snapping away the book and the disappointing ball of energy. Something in him had turned cold.

Maybe it was Tony’s joking implication that he was, well, _ strange_. Maybe it was the hours in the garage trying to accomplish a spell and only managing an utterly useless ball. Maybe it was the years of friendship with Tony that made his oncoming outburst normal and natural.

“Ever since I took on the role of Sorcerer Supreme,” said Stephen, voice quieter than normal, “people seem to think I'm some kind of cold, super-focused, untouchable _ monk_.”

“You do spend a lot of time in the library,” Tony helpfully pointed out.

Stephen felt a hot prick of frustration, more at himself than Tony. He bit his bottom lip and continued.

“I used to throw parties in my New York penthouse. I used to speak at conventions and have my research published in journals. I was outgoing and cocky, am kinda still—hey, don't _ laugh_—but it's as if…”

Stephen wavered over his next words, as if hesitation would gift him with eloquence. Why he decided to spill all of this onto his… coworker-colleague-friend… he didn’t know. But he knew that Tony wouldn’t question why.

“It’s as if being Sorcerer Supreme has made everyone forget that I have feelings and interests besides studying spells and fighting mystical threats. I like music and dancing and going to shows. I want to travel and cook more and have a dog someday, maybe even a family.”

Stephen’s voice twisted with a tired bitterness harbored over the years.

“It’s like I'm not _ human _ sometimes. Everyone sees me as a sorcerer above all else. Which, I admit, is a fair observation. But there's more to me than that. Wow, that sounds incredibly selfish of me, and it is, but—” God, stop talking, _ stop talking_. “I don't know. I don't know.”

Tony set down his tools in the ensuing silence to mull over what Stephen’s words. Ater a moment of thought, which consisted of a hard staring at the ground, he spoke.

“Sometimes I forget that you've only been doing this superhero thing for a few years,” said Tony. “I've been where you’re at, a long time ago. So trust me, I understand. Having a public persona and the world’s responsibilities—hell, more than this world, in your case—only a few people can handle that.”

He looked up at Stephen with a smile that fell easily on his face. It reminded Stephen of the way that sunshine fell on water.

“You've handled it pretty well, Doc. Seriously. I don't know how you do it. Especially when your job is so thankless. I get TIME’s Person of the Year for beating Loki’s ass. You get a pat on the back from Wong for literally dying to destroy Dormammu.”

As much as Stephen was used to flattery, it was unexpected coming from Tony, certified genius who graduated from MIT at 17 years old. And that description only scratched the surface.

A mumbled “thanks” was all Stephen could manage.

But Tony was implacable. He stared at Stephen with a soft blaze of defiance in his eyes. Any attempt at humility from Stephen would be shot down on sight.

“You’re not just a magician or wizard or monk,” argued Tony. “You’re Doctor Stephen freakin’ _Strange!_ You know every song on every station. You can solve a Rubik’s cube in thirty seconds. You make a killer quiche. You almost beat me at chess—oh, don't give me that look. What I'm trying to say is, you're pretty damn cool. Sometimes you're even nice and smart_. _Key word: sometimes. And obviously you do all this _on_ _top_ of fighting a ton of battles and saving a bunch of lives.”

_I've lost many, too_, was Stephen’s immediate thought. He wanted to fold into himself. _ Half of the universe_.

Tony instantly registered Stephen’s line of thinking.

“It's not your fault.”

Stephen remembered his devastation at killing a single man while defending the New York Sanctum. _ I became a doctor to save lives, not take them, _ he had told the Ancient One. How things have changed. Stephen’s heart took a crashing plunge to the bottom of his stomach. 

“I was supposed to know everything. I saw all the futures,” said Stephen. He looked up at Tony with eyes blue and broken. “It was _ my _ responsibility, and we _ lost_.”

“Wow, did you completely gloss over everything I just said? Look, Strange, you said it yourself: _ It was the only way. _ You did your best. You knew that giving the Time Stone to Thanos was just one step toward winning. You couldn’t control the other steps.”

Stephen’s hands trembled.

_I’m not supposed to be alive right now_.

He should be gone, and Tony should be with Pepper raising their daughter in the countryside, not stuck in a garage comforting some blubbering idiot. He should be gone, and Tony should be working on the time machine and saving the universe. But no, Stephen was here. And it was just them, not Pepper, not Morgan, not half the universe. This was the outcome they were in, and it was Stephen’s own doing.

“Hey, Strange.”

Stephen’s vision began blurring at the edges with hot shame. He concentrated on anything else, anything else but the man stepping in front of him. 

A softer “Stephen.”

Warm, calloused hands wrapped around his shaking ones. Stephen startled like a wounded, bleeding animal, but a soothing voice quickly reassured him, held him still.

“You’re alright. You’re okay.”

At the oh-so familiar words, his eyes flitted to Tony’s face. It was closer to him than he expected.

“I want you to hear this, okay? You're a good man. You fought with all of us, and you did everything you could. But you don't need to keep fighting, not anymore. You're here now, Stephen. You're okay.”

The grip on Stephen’s hands grew harder.

“You saved my life.”

Tony’s voice was strangely tight.

“Thank you for that, by the way. I don't know if I've ever… properly thanked you.”

Stephen didn't know what to say at this sudden admission. His knee-jerk instinct was to fire back a smart-ass _ What was that again? _—but the part of him that felt grateful, and even bashful, to receive Tony’s honesty won over.

“You don't need to thank me,” replied Stephen. “But that’s nice to hear. Thank you.”

“_I saved Tony Stark’s life_,” said Tony. “How many people can say that? Don't answer that, actually.”

Tony flashed his trademark grin, the one that Stephen was typically torn between hating and adoring. The sight of it now was reassuring.

“Anyways,” continued Tony, “all I'm getting at is, you know… You’re more than your nine-to-five. You've done some great, great stuff, and you shouldn't blame yourself for something completely out of your control. You've done enough, and you don't need to do any more. That includes beating yourself up about it. You got that?”

Stephen slowly nodded, an adequate response escaping him. Despite turning his head to avoid Tony’s concerned gaze, he couldn’t stop a smile of relief and embarrassment from spreading across his lips.

Tony seemed to take Stephen’s gradual ease as an invitation to return to his normal, perky self. Kind of. 

“Well, that's enough pep talk from me for a year. Don't get used to it, Strange,” muttered Tony, but there was a softness in his voice that Stephen was not used to.

Stephen couldn’t think of something clever enough to shoot back. The tension in his chest, tight and choking, was steadily leaving him, slowly being replaced by a fluttering feeling. His heart was still beating fast. Tony’s hands were still around his.

_Ah._

Tony’s thumb gently ran down his fingers, tracing every bump and scar as if they were the coastlines of a map.

“Tell me if you're not okay with this.”

Words stumbled down the stairs in Stephen’s brain and out of his mouth.

“You’re—you're good.”

Hands that had handled sharp tools and heavy machinery, hands that had dripped the blood of its owner and others, were now cradling Stephen’s own. He felt scrutinized. Was this how his former patients had felt?

The hairs on Stephen’s skin raised as Tony carefully turned Stephen’s trembling hands over. No, this was much more intimate.

Observing Stephen’s palms, pale and crisscrossed with delicate lines, Tony let out a small chuckle under his breath.

“I honestly don't know how you make sparkly shields out of your hands—I'm _ kidding_, sheesh. You'd think someone who’s been in the American healthcare system would know when he sees a joke. Hey—_kidding!_”

Stephen had thrown a glare at Tony. In response, Tony tensed up as if expecting Stephen to either get up and leave, or send him to the Mirror Dimension.

But neither happened. Instead, Stephen took Tony’s hands and drew the man closer. Their foreheads nearly touched, and their breathing was suddenly a little too loud in Stephen’s ears.

“You're terrible.” Stephen’s words felt slow and heavy under his breath. He was staring down at two pairs of hands cupped together. “I hate you.”

“I know.” A pause, and then a steady, “You okay, Strange?”

Stephen pulled back and released Tony’s hands as things became dizzy.

“Sorry. Yeah, yeah.” Face colored with embarrassment, Stephen took a wobbly stagger backward into the workbench behind him. “My apologies, Tony. I don't know what came ov-ov—oh.”

Tony had stepped forward, backing a shaking Stephen further against the workbench. Tilting his head slightly upwards, Tony met Stephen’s eyes with an unwavering gaze.

“Stop apologizing, dumbass,” he growled, “or I’ll hate you more. Come here.”

_Oh._

Stephen’s body froze, but his heart began beating wildly.

Tony was hugging him.

Stephen couldn’t recall the last time he had been hugged. People usually shook his hand after a job well-done. Hugging—well, really, _ intimacy _had not been in his orbit for years.

Now Stephen was in the crook of Tony’s neck, feeling the scratch of Tony’s beard and the tickle of Tony’s hair; smelling sweat, grease, shaving cream, expensive cologne, coffee—all Tony. Stephen wanted to bury his face deeper into Tony’s neck, maybe hide from the sight of the world if Tony would let him. But that was too much to ask of a person, so Stephen closed his eyes instead.

Tony, whose chin rested on Stephen’s shoulder, cleared his throat.

“Do you always have to have... _ that _ on?” Tony’s face was pressed up against Stephen’s cloak.

Momentary panic. “Oh, ah, no.” And the Cloak of Levitation obediently removed itself and flew away to a corner of the room.

“You know, the magical cloak is a good place to start,” teased Tony, “if you’re so worried about looking like a sorcerer.”

But after saying that last part, a light bulb seemed to go off in Tony’s head. The man brightened.

“But you know what? I can help with that.”

Tony backed away from Stephen and took a phone out of his pocket, appearing very determined as he clicked through it. After finding something, he produced a pair of earphones in his other hand and plugged them into his phone. Then he held one earbud out to Stephen.

Stephen obliged without further question. He put in the earbud as Tony did the same at the other end.

Tony had his arms crossed, watching for a reaction, as soft rock began quietly playing from one side of Stephen’s head.

“Elton,” murmured Stephen, lifting his eyes to meet Tony’s gaze. Usually Stephen had more to say when music was the topic of discussion, but the lack of distance between him and Tony rendered his tongue mostly useless.

“Thank Jesus he's still here, huh?”

Tony liking ‘70s music didn’t surprise Stephen in the slightest. Rather, Stephen was surprised by how unexpectedly, awfully endearing the fact seemed to him at that very moment.

It didn't help that Tony closed his eyes, fluttering dark, long eyelashes, and that he began to hum, voice low and warm. A little off-pitch, but that only added to the charm.

Oh, _ no. _

As Stephen became aware of his wandering thoughts, a barely visible blush crept up his face. God, Vishanti, _ someone _ help him. He fixed his eyes at his feet, trying to will his heart to pump blood a little quieter.

What was he doing here, sharing headphones with Tony Stark in a garage and listening to “Your Song”?

_[It’s](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lwBEqupVOdc) a little bit funny, this feeling inside  
_ _I'm not one of those who can easily hide_

Stephen stole a glance at the man in front of him. Tony’s face was a calm and healthy and glowing picture, a picture unlike the many other faces Stephen had seen in the other futures. An inexplicable lump quickly grew at the back of his throat, and Stephen felt himself struck by a pang of vague yearning. How could he be so happy yet miserable at the same time?

Tony’s eyes opened and caught the sorcerer gazing at him with a funny expression.

“I don’t know,” blurted Tony, as if he had been asked to explain himself. He gave a small, contained laugh, attempting to downplay his behavior. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Neither did Stephen, and yet Stephen stepped forward from the workbench, propelled by whatever forces may be, closing the small distance between them—and shutting Tony, for the moment, up.

There they stood in a garage, two men awkwardly yet comfortably sharing the gentle sounds of violins, a piano, and the strumming of a guitar while mere inches apart.

_I hope you don't mind_  
_That I put down in words   
_ _How wonderful life is while you're in the world_

And watching Tony—whom, unable to keep still, swayed on his feet and bumped lightly into Stephen’s chest, the flashes of contact sending all sorts of shivers across the doctor’s skin—Stephen could not help but agree with the song. There were many who would disagree, but life, for a fleeting moment in Stephen’s forty-so years, seemed wonderful while Tony Stark was currently cozied up against him.

The potent mixture of Tony’s warmth and the music and their aloneness and togetherness was quickly sending Stephen into a helpless spiral of _ Oh god oh god oh god I think I’m fucking falling for Tony Stark I think I’m fucking falling for Tony Stark. _

It was a realization that, deep down, shouldn't have surprised him. In fact, it was probably not his first time having this realization. Bring two people together who were lonely and had some shared experiences, and the rest would come together. Still, it was a bit embarrassing that, of all people, an egotistical asshat like Tony Stark was the one who made the heat rise in Stephen’s cheeks.

It was so easy to hate Tony. Stephen knew from experience, obviously. But for all the reasons to hate him, there were so many more reasons to admire and even love him. And maybe it took their world ending and for them to live in the ashes of the aftermath for Stephen to find out those reasons.

A few days of fighting, a few months of healing, and a few years of friendship later—it was clear that Tony was, if nothing else, a generous, funny, brilliant, loyal, and selfless human being. He had saved the world several times, and Stephen knew he would have done it again, even if it meant losing his life, in another timeline.

Tony had saved the world several times, and was it too cliché to say that he had also saved Stephen?

Maybe it was, but then again Stephen was never a poet, even if his thoughts of Tony could fill pages.

But right now, his thoughts were practically nonexistent, along with all normal human functions like breathing and blinking. Tony, in cat-like fashion, had settled his head against the doctor’s chest. The blood pumping in Stephen’s ears was almost louder than the music.

There was a point when Stephen had thought himself unsalvageable, past the possibility of saving. In the months following the snap, he had wandered through days in a haze. Life became aimless without a world to protect. It was a struggle, one he feared he would someday lose, to swallow the bitter pill of staying alive.

So one day he visited Tony. Self-preservation finally outweighed shame. Their meeting felt like a doctor’s appointment, formal and awkward and a little scary. Neither superhero wanted to admit their symptoms, even though they recognized the sickness they shared. So they didn't.

But neither questioned when Stephen came back again and asked Tony the easiest way to communicate with a society of primitive life forms circling a faraway star. Neither questioned when Tony knocked on the door of the Sanctum because he was “passing by and wanted to check out Hogwarts.” Neither questioned when Stephen portaled into Tony’s workshop to borrow some parts, only to find Tony eating a cheeseburger and fries, and would Strange care for some fries?

Something usually stopped them from speaking about Thanos, Titan, and the snap. A book or spell or gadget would suddenly become interesting, the conversation would shift, and no one would bat an eye. But they couldn't always avoid the topic. Their lives, especially Stephen’s (as he continued to do superhero work), were directly and forever linked to the event. 

So whenever necessary, they talked about it in the stilted way that most survivors did. _ Yes, the snap. Tragic, the immense loss of life. Of course, we’re fortunate to be here. _Tony and Stephen didn't talk about what it meant for them to be here—the stifling guilt, the burning regret, the wishful what-ifs—

—until those late nights when they would watch TV, and every news headline flashed sour and grim. Tony would dig his fingernails into the armrests and Stephen would tighten his jaw until one of them changed the channel or broke the silence.

“I fucked up,” Stephen would say, voice as dry and rough as sandpaper. Or “I could've done more,” Tony would say into his glass of scotch.

Each confession was returned with steady patience. “You didn't,” Tony would say. “You couldn't,” Stephen would say.

Maybe it was a few kind words one time. But the kind words built up with other kind things over the months and the years. The concerned looks, the forgiving touches, the “you okay?”s, the belly-full laughs at terrible, terrible jokes—

To cut it short and simple, it was those days with Tony that saved Stephen.

So Tony trying to thank Stephen for saving his life on Titan, just minutes ago, was a redundant act. Tony had already thanked Stephen a long time ago, in the most graceful, selfless way that Stephen knew possible.

He had treated a man, who thought himself undeserving, with kindness, patience, and understanding.

_I hope you don't mind_  
_That I put down in words_  
_How wonderful life is while you're in the world_

The music faded out softly, and for those few precious seconds of ringing silence in between songs, Stephen soaked in the feeling of Tony breathing against his chest. It took all of Stephen's strength not to shake with excitement. He wanted to remember every detail of the moment: from the warmth of their bodies pressed together, down to the fine brush of Tony’s hair against his chin.

And had it not been for the hammering in his chest, Stephen would have swore that he felt Tony’s smile widen when the first notes of the next song played.

_[Catch](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4QSA7pSvh-o) a star if you can_  
_Wish for something special _  
_Let it be me, my love is free_

Tony drew his head back from Stephen’s chest and gave Stephen a half-apologetic face.

“I might have my ‘Elton John’s Greatest Hits’ playlist on.”

Feigning annoyance around Tony was getting harder every day. Instead, Stephen’s eyes were bright and burning with affection for the man in front of him.

“You're a goddamn dork of a dad, you know that?” 

Tony shot him a goofy, toothy grin. Of course he did. Then he gave the sorcerer’s hands a quick squeeze. Nothing—not roller coasters nor interdimensional travel—could rival the way that Tony’s teasing and touch, _together_, made Stephen’s stomach flip. 

“I still don't know why you’re doing this,” huffed Stephen, not that he was at all complaining about some good music and company.

“Earlier, you said that you liked music, dancing, among other things. Right?”

“That's what I said, yes,” he affirmed, hiding his surprise at Tony’s attentiveness with a leveled tone.

“Then let’s move on.”

Tony yanked out their headphones. Music automatically began playing on speakers around the room. Tony then took a few steps back, so that he was standing in the center of the room. Stephen instantly missed the feeling of Tony against him, but he didn't miss it for long.

Tony began _ dancing_. Poorly, no doubt. Being a middle-aged white man could only grant him so many privileges. But he was _ dancing _ and his hips were rocking and his feet were stomping and his arms, _ oh his tanned muscled arms_, were up in the air. Meanwhile, Stephen’s jaw was on the ground.

What an idiot.

Whether he was thinking of Tony and his bad dancing or of himself and his blatant gawking, Stephen couldn't tell.

“Does this doctor dance?” asked Tony, snaking his way to Stephen with a playful shimmy of his shoulders.

“Sometimes. Usually not in a garage with Iron Man.” Stephen’s hard-set mouth, after he had collected his jaw from the floor, twitched with a smile.

“Do you think he'll make an exception?”

“Can’t see into the future without a Time Stone.”

“And if the doctor was presented with a compelling argument?” Tony made various arm movements and exaggerated faces in front of Stephen.

“And what, perchance”—Stephen’s breath hitched when a wandering hand slid across his cheek—“may that be?”

“He’ll just have to find out.” Tony grabbed Stephen’s hands and tugged them back and forth, beckoning, entreating, imploring.

So the doctor, liking the other man terribly, had no other choice.

Like preparing for an operation, Stephen ran a hand through his dark hair, pulling loose strands out of his face. Then he shook his hands (was he _ sweating?_) and patted them on his pants.

Tony watched Stephen’s warm-up with thinly veiled amusement. Then a grin, one shining of an almost childlike delight, broke across his face when Stephen started dancing.

It didn't take long for Stephen to settle into the song. In moments he was nodding his head and bouncing his knee on tempo. Then feeling adventurous, he began a shuffle-step, letting his head roll and his arms rock side to side while his fingers snapped. He silently blamed this sudden, embarrassing show of energy on Tony’s infectious enthusiasm.

“_Woah. _ I didn't know Doc had _ moves_.”

“I don't.”

And Stephen proved it by doing the Cabbage Patch, sparking the happiest laughter he’d heard in years.

_Are you ready for love?_

And Stephen, making a complete fool out of himself to make Tony Stark laugh, felt the lyrics reverberate in his giddy, aching heart.

_Yes, I am._

The next song came on, and then the next, and then the next. Maybe the playlist would never finish and it would just rewind and everything would start again, beginning with a sunny day in Central Park.

Like teenagers, the two of them giggled and bumped into each other. Heat flushed their cheeks and sweat slicked their foreheads and palms. Attempts at dance-offs and dancing togethers were met with eye rolls and glances that maybe said _ I’m impressed and maybe even a little attracted to you right now_. Once, Tony did a small, joking hip-thrust against Stephen’s thigh that, behind hands that immediately covered his face, turned the sorcerer into an unimaginable shade of red.

“Well, this is sweet,” said Tony when the playlist inevitably finished, many funny, flirty, flustered moments later. “But you know what’s sweeter? Stark Raving Hazelnuts. Want some?” 

“I thought—” Stephen stood hunched over his knees, giving a breathless laugh. “I thought you swore off dairy.”

“You _ remembered? _I'm a little touched. Regardless, how could I not have it?” Tony offered his hand.

“Let's hope it's more sweet than chalky.” Stephen took Tony’s hand.

“Oh, it's sweet,” said Tony, and he pulled Stephen up. “Just for you.”

Their hands didn’t immediately separate as they walked together to Tony’s kitchen. Stephen watched as Tony got a pint of ice cream from the freezer, and Tony watched as Stephen tried it.

Stephen took a few forced bites, enough to make Tony smile.

It’s worth it. 

* * *

Hours after Stephen witnesses this alternate outcome, Tony dies.

When Stephen mourns with everyone else, he doesn't think about this outcome. He thinks of all the other outcomes where Tony lives and the world and its classrooms, labs, hospitals, and habitats are for the better with him in it.

After the world mourns and moves on, this alternate outcome quickly catches up to Stephen and stays in his consciousness like a fire.

At first it burns. It’s silent and not-so-silent agony. There is nothing else in the world he can see or feel except this one outcome where Tony lives and loves him. Thinking of it makes him feverish, and he can't stop sweating or shaking during many restless nights.

It’s over a year after the snap, but a day finally passes without him thinking about the alternate outcome. Its absence leaves him colder, but he grows used to the smaller flame. He nurses it, keeps it alive and tucked away in a corner of his heart. It stings when he gets too close, so he practices distance, slowly.

Still, he can't eat Ben & Jerry’s or hear “Tiny Dancer” without getting choked up, never mind enjoy the hundred other things that remind him of Tony and the relationship they never had. It makes his few social outings awkward. Never-made memories add kindle to the fire, and he knows he’s running out of tolerance.

So he doesn't understand why one day he attempts the spell from the alternate outcome, the one he tried and couldn't do in Tony’s garage.

It’s an unexpected reaction, but when a pathetically weak ball of energy forms in his hand, Stephen laughs.

He fails the spell, again. But instead of feeling the crush of frustration that alternate-outcome Stephen did, this-outcome Stephen feels a small burst of lightness in his chest that he hasn't felt in a long time.

There are still spells to figure out, he is reminded.

There are still places to travel and shows to attend. There are still songs to listen to, ice creams to eat, and people—friends, lovers, family—to dance with and love.

Stephen isn’t just a doctor, a sorcerer, a superhero, and Tony saw that. Even when doubt and insecurity clouded Stephen’s judgment, Tony looked past it all and saw Stephen’s talent and brilliance and capability in their most purest, most utmost forms. In Tony’s eyes, Stephen had unlimited potential.

While Stephen saw millions of futures and outcomes with Tony, Tony saw millions of possibilities in Stephen.

It’s why Tony saved him. And it’s why, this time, Stephen decides to save himself.

He is many things, but above all, Doctor Stephen Strange is a survivor. He survived the crash, Dormammu, Thanos—and he will survive without Tony.

He’ll harness the energy of the fire inside him and create something bigger and brighter than any spell ever could.

Tomorrow he shows Wong “I Want It That Way” and doesn't complain when he hears it for the next month.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! All kudos, comments, and critiques are super appreciated. I'm also on Tumblr as @plvtarch!


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